


I was as pure as a River, but now I think I'm Possessed

by versti_fantur



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - Quarantine, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versti_fantur/pseuds/versti_fantur
Summary: “There’s a global pandemic, which means you have to stay inside,” Íþróttaálfurinn said exasperatedly, folding his arms and glaring at him.“Says who?” Glanni stood up again, nonchalantly leaning against the side of the dumpster with a smirk; if he couldn’t make Íþróttaálfurinn go away, then he’d at least get a kick out of teasing him.“Says the law.” Ah yes, that mythical concept of ‘the law’ that Glanni only had a vague recollection of at the best of times, and a reckless disregard for at the worst.“You of all people know I don’t listen to that,” he said with a wink.//Or, Íþróttaálfurinn forces Glanni to quarantine with him during a pandemic after finding Glanni sleeping on the streets.I mean its literally a Quarantine AU what else do you want? xD
Relationships: Glanni Glæpur/Íþróttaálfurinn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	I was as pure as a River, but now I think I'm Possessed

**Author's Note:**

> Ayy so I decided to post the Quarantine AU first, because currently it's longer and well, more content is good right? Anyway I hope you enjoy! (and follow me on instagram @versti_fantur_sem_eg_veit)

Íþróttaálfurinn’s patience was worn thin from having to chaperone far too many people back to their homes after they’d ‘gone out to the shops’ for the fifth time that day so that when he jogged past an alleyway and noticed the shadows moving behind a large yellow dumpster, he was already irritated. “Glanni, you can’t be out here,” he said dryly as Glanni stuck his head out from his current hideout, a scowl on his face.

“Fuck off Íþróttaálfurinn, I’m not doing anything illegal,” he rolled his eyes and ducked back down, he was too cold, too tired, and nowhere near drunk enough to deal with the stupid elf today. Birna wouldn’t let him back into the safe house for whatever reason, so he was stuck in this goddamn alley for the foreseeable future, and this unwelcome visitor was only making things more unpleasant.

“You literally are.”

“No, I’m not.” He replied, a tad childishly, but he didn’t care; why wouldn’t he just leave him alone?

“There’s a _global pandemic_ , which means you have to _stay inside_ ,” Íþróttaálfurinn said exasperatedly, folding his arms and glaring at him. 

“Says who?” Glanni stood up again, nonchalantly leaning against the side of the dumpster with a smirk; if he couldn’t make Íþróttaálfurinn go away, then he’d at least get a kick out of teasing him.

“Says the _law_.” Ah yes, that mythical concept of ‘the law’ that Glanni only had a vague recollection of at the best of times, and a reckless disregard for at the worst.

“You of all people know I don’t listen to that,” he winked, his smirk growing as Íþróttaálfurinn gave him a look that implied he wanted to throttle him.

“Glanni…” His voice held a warning now, but Glanni wanted to see how far he could push before he snapped.

“Why are _you_ out here then? I wouldn’t have taken you for a criminal too.” He added a wink for good measure, and Íþróttaálfurinn sighed.

“It’s my job, you know that.” Ha, as if Íþróttaálfurinn had an actual job—all he seemed to do was stick his nose into everywhere he wasn’t wanted, which was mainly in Glanni’s business.

“What if I haven’t got an inside to stay in, huh?” He sneered, curious to see how the elf would deal with that one.

Íþróttaálfurinn frowned, his expression immediately softening as he stepped forward, “Are you homeless?” What? _Sympathy_ wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

“Says the man who lives in a fucking _balloon_ ” Glanni spat back, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively as Íþróttaálfurinn came closer.

“I do have a house you know”

“I don’t, what’s your point?”

“You can’t stay here.” If Glanni didn’t know better, he would’ve said Íþróttaálfurinn sounded almost concerned, which in itself was laughable. Why the fuck would Íþróttaálfurinn care about _him_?

“Where do you want me to go then?” Íþróttaálfurinn began to answer but Glanni cut him off, “If you dare say the police station or a homeless shelter I will fuck you up.” He reached for the knife inside his boot to prove a point before remembering he’d lost it a few days ago. Shit.

“I was going to say you should come with me, but now you’ve suggested those-” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled wryly, his tone more teasing than annoyed now.

“What?! I’m not staying with _you_.” Glanni snapped, recoiling as Íþróttaálfurinn stepped closer again. The whole idea was ludicrous.

“It’s me or a jail cell.” Wow, an ultimatum! Íþróttaálfurinn sure was a fan of those! 

Glanni rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m _not_ coming with you.” And that was final. He would never, _ever_ lower himself to rely on Íþróttaálfurinn’s help for _anything_.

\----

Íþróttaálfurinn had a surprisingly nice house, all things considered. Nothing much in terms of valuables Glanni could steal, but it was more than he was used to, and he pocketed a tiny crystal ornament, just to be petty. Íþróttaálfurinn gave him a brief tour, pointing out the main rooms before leading him up the stairs.

“You can sleep here, I have some pyjamas that might fit if you want them, and I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” Íþróttaálfurinn said, opening a door opposite what was, presumably, his own bedroom. Glanni took in the plain white walls and bedsheets, the lack of any personal artefacts on the dresser, and wondered quite how often Íþróttaálfurinn had guests. Maybe he’d _never_ had them before. Knowing Íþróttaálfurinn as well as he did, (which admittedly wasn’t all that well, but he was usually good at reading people), it wouldn’t surprise him if that were the case. 

Realising that Íþróttaálfurinn had disappeared, Glanni explored the room, opening wardrobes and cupboards randomly; slamming some closed and leaving others wide open, because who would turn down an opportunity to snoop around and trash a room at the same time? But he found nothing. At all. It was actually kind of weird. Glancing at the door to check he was alone, he walked to the window and fiddled with the opening mechanism, but the handle seemed to be stuck.

“It’s locked,” a voice said from behind him, and Glanni swore under his breath. “And I already told you, you can’t go outside.”

“Great, I’m your prisoner now,” Glanni drawled and threw himself facedown onto the bed. “Maybe the jail cell would’ve been better, at least the guards can be bribed.” Íþróttaálfurinn laughed, a sound that Glanni had never heard before, and then the mattress dipped beside him.

“They don’t bring you tea in prison.” Glanni turned his head and looked up to where Íþróttaálfurinn held two mugs, offering one to him. He ignored it at first, but Íþróttaálfurinn poked at his side with his knee until Glanni relented and pushed himself up, crossing his legs as he moved to lean against the headboard. At Íþróttaálfurinn’s insistence, he took the mug, burning his tongue as he sipped the too-hot beverage. 

“Don’t you have any sugar?” He wrinkled his nose at the taste and Íþróttaálfurinn gave him a look of mild horror.

“There are already two cubes in there. I assumed you’d like it sweet,” he said slowly, as though there had been a misunderstanding.

Glanni sipped again, “Needs at least two more.” He smirked behind his mug as Íþróttaálfurinn paled slightly. Nothing like mildly alarming your captor to raise your spirits, right? 

“You know where the kitchen is,” Íþróttaálfurinn stood, and quietly left the room, but Glanni heard him add “I’ve already removed the knives so don’t get any ideas,” from down the hallway. Well shit, there went his second plan. But the tea did need more sugar, so he followed Íþróttaálfurinn downstairs again. He had a proper look around this time, noticing how it wasn’t just his room that was weirdly under-furnished; the whole house felt severely un-lived in, with most of the walls blank and painted in neutral shades, the furniture itself nearly new. Not to mention how Íþróttaálfurinn himself seemed out of place in it, and Glanni wondered how often he even stayed here. Probably seldom, given how much he loved that ridiculous balloon. 

Eventually, he found the kitchen, dropping three more sugar cubes into his cup and stirring it with his finger because he didn’t know where the spoons were and he didn’t care enough to ask. He immediately regretted doing so as he scalded his finger, but just grimaced and turned on the tap, filling the mug the rest of the way up with cold water until it was a tolerable temperature. As he leant against the counter, he could hear Íþróttaálfurinn counting to himself across the hallway, and since he had nothing better to do, he went to investigate. 

Having removed his leather breastplate, Íþróttaálfurinn lay on the living room floor, alternating between one-armed push-ups and something that resembled a push-up but had a flippy, spinny thing in the middle that Glanni couldn’t name and thus believed to be completely pointless. Taking a long and deliberately loud sip of his tea, he leant against the doorframe, staring nonchalantly out of the window opposite him.

“Can I help you?” 

“Hmm?” Glanni turned to Íþróttaálfurinn, as though surprised to see him there. “No, I’m fine.” Íþróttaálfurinn rolled his eyes and went back to his push-ups. 

Down. Up. Down. Flippy spinny thing. Down.

“I’m hungry.” 

Up. Down. Up. 

“The kitchen is behind you.” Íþróttaálfurinn didn’t even bother looking up this time. 

Spin. Down. Up. Down.

“I don’t want your vegan shit.” Glanni watched Íþróttaálfurinn now, the flex of his biceps as he lowered himself to the ground again. Sure, he didn’t like his personality, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view.

“I’m not a vegan.” 

Down. Up. Down. Spin. Down. Up. 

He stopped, jumping to his feet and walking past Glanni into the kitchen, opening a few cupboards and pulling out several ingredients. “I usually have dinner later, but we might as well eat together. Will you eat pasta?” Glanni nodded, still watching as Íþróttaálfurinn set a pan on the stove and filled it with water.

This had taken a turn for the oddly domestic which Glanni hadn’t anticipated, but he was _not_ about to let Íþróttaálfurinn unnerve him like that, so he opened a few cupboards himself and, after a minute or so, found what he was looking for. He grinned as he took out a bottle of wine, pulling out the cork with his teeth before Íþróttaálfurinn had a chance to protest.

“Glanni I really wouldn’t-”

“Ha, you can keep me here if you have to, but you’re not going to stop me getting drunk,” Glanni interrupted, taking a swig from the bottle. “What the fuck is in this?!”

Íþróttaálfurinn rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s an elven wine. Extremely potent to humans. Most people can’t even tolerate one glass.” Glanni narrowed his eyes.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Glanni-”

It was too late, and Glanni took another drink, trying to ignore the burning in his throat and the prickling of his eyes. And then it was all too much and he choked, slamming the bottle down on the counter as he coughed and spluttered. To make it worse, Íþróttaálfurinn was _laughing_ at him. Fucking stupid elf.

“I told you so,” Íþróttaálfurinn said as he turned around to drop the pasta into the boiling water, and had Glanni been in a better state, he would’ve thrown something heavy at his head. But as it was he was still struggling to breathe, and there wasn’t anything particularly deadly in the nearby vicinity anyway. “Here.” Íþróttaálfurinn picked up a glass and poured tap water into it, before handing it to Glanni, who glared at it like it was poison. When Íþróttaálfurinn showed no signs of relenting, Glanni grabbed the glass and slinked away into the living room, curling up on the sofa with the TV remote, and flicking through the channels until he found one that would sufficiently irritate Íþróttaálfurinn; settling on one playing trashy Project Runway re-runs with the volume on high.

Around twenty minutes later though, Íþróttaálfurinn still hadn’t commented on it, so when he stuck his head around the door, Glanni assumed he’d come to tell him to turn it off, but instead he just beckoned him to return to the kitchen. Glanni reluctantly followed him, moderately enticed by the smell of cooking, since it had been… a while… since he last ate. As he walked, the ground seemed to sway beneath him, leaving him a little unsteady on his feet. Gods that wine must have been strong, it usually took him 8 hours of constant drinking to get to this level. He made a mental note to never challenge Íþróttaálfurinn to a drinking contest, and slid into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, tugging at a loose thread in his placemat as Íþróttaálfurinn set down two plates.

Glanni eyed it warily, but picked up his fork and took a bite. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, nor did it taste like vegetables, which was another bonus. Plus it was the first hot meal he’d had in weeks so he was going to eat it, even if it had been made by Íþróttaálfurinn. At least he was probably too nice to poison him, though after what happened in Latibær he couldn’t be sure…

“Did you poison this?”

Íþróttaálfurinn looked up at him, frowning. “No, of course not. I’m not a murderer.” Oof. That was a low blow.

“For the last time, I didn’t _kill_ anyone.” None that Íþróttaálfurinn was aware of anyway. And not that time in Latibær. He wouldn’t kill kids.

“But you really think I’d do that?” Íþróttaálfurinn set his cutlery down and watched Glanni as he thought of his answer. Glanni didn’t like the scrutiny, not one bit.

“The last however many times we’ve met you’ve tried to have me thrown in jail, so yeah, I do.”

“There’s a big difference between upholding the law and killing someone.” Íþróttaálfurinn laughed humourlessly under his breath. “And I don’t want you dead.”

“Why?”

Íþróttaálfurinn frowned, and Glanni studied his face for any sign that he might be lying, but found none.

“Yes you’ve done bad things, horrible awful things, but if you wanted to, you could change. You don’t have to be evil. And I think underneath all-” he twirled his fork to gesture at Glanni, “-this, I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

Glanni scoffed. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“Believe whatever makes you happy,” Íþróttaálfurinn shrugged, turning back to his food. 

Damnit, although Glanni had technically won the argument or whatever, Íþróttaálfurinn had still managed to make him feel like he’d lost.

Their meal continued in silence, with Íþróttaálfurinn getting up halfway through to pour himself a glass of the elven wine, and another glass of water for Glanni, who ignored it disdainfully and continued to eat. However, he couldn’t help but subtly watch whenever Íþróttaálfurinn took a sip; his throat burning from the memory of the wine. How the _fuck_ could he drink that?

Once they’d both finished, Íþróttaálfurinn stood and took their empty plates to the sink, throwing a dish towel to Glanni, who caught it on instinct but looked back to Íþróttaálfurinn, confused.

“Dry the dishes?” Íþróttaálfurinn pointed to the draining board.

Glanni smirked. “But I’m a guest!”

“Dry the dishes Glanni.” Íþróttaálfurinn rolled his eyes and turned back to washing. Complaining under his breath and huffing loudly, Glanni walked over and leant against the counter, picking up a plate to dry. 

“Whoops,” he said as he ‘accidentally’ dropped it, but before it could shatter, Íþróttaálfurinn caught it and shoved it right back into his hands.

“Don’t.” He shook his head and Glanni felt like screaming. A few minutes later, he sighed and turned to face Glanni, a tired look in his eye. “I don’t want to make you feel like a prisoner here; as soon as the quarantine’s lifted you can go. No, I won’t even take you to the police.” He paused, allowing the information to sink in. “But whilst you have to be here, could you at least make an effort to pretend you don’t completely hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them—curse that damned wine—but he found he wasn’t lying. “I’ve seen some people do some seriously fucked up shit. I hate them. All you’ve done is been annoying.” Íþróttaálfurinn’s mouth twitched into a smile at the last part, and something inside Glanni relaxed a little. He didn’t have to _like_ it here, but maybe he could at least try and make it a little more tolerable.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed ^-^ 
> 
> Comments and kudos make me so happy !! <3


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